


In the Most Delightful Way

by Ayla221bee



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, Ficlet, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prompt Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23935186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayla221bee/pseuds/Ayla221bee
Summary: Mystrade short stories with fluff, romance, humour, angst...and a lot more.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade
Comments: 31
Kudos: 96





	1. The Apple Crumble

**Author's Note:**

> The chapter is inspired by a tweet from British Problems on Twitter, based on a tweet about two-word love stories: https://twitter.com/soverybritish/status/1234123482180587520

Mycroft would easily consider himself to be an expert on most topics. If it was a new skill that he needed to acquire such a learning a language, Mycroft could pick up the basics within a matter of hours. Mycroft knew that he could turn his hand to most activities, he could speak several languages fluently, he was an accomplished fencer, he could somehow manage to look after Rosie and successfully fulfil his uncle duties. He had discovered that he could simultaneously deal with a potential world and governmental crisis over the phone while having to deal with a fussy toddler who refused to go for a nap. 

There was more flour on the countertops and his apron than in the bowl, there was an ever-growing pile of dishes in the sink. There were two previous attempts of the recipe that he was he attempting to make in the bin. He had somehow managed to burn himself and cut his finger when he was dealing with the apples. Mycroft wondered why Greg had even put up with the cooking or why he willingly did it, it was just so much easier to have a cook or just to sustain themselves on take away. 

Mycroft never thought that making an apple crumble could be so difficult, it was so much easier to deal with a potential economic crisis and he would have preferred to deal with the Prime Minister than making a pudding. He did not even know why he even considered making one in the first place, it would have been much easier to surprise Greg with a weekend away to the countryside or to have just bought him a watch, it would have been less messy. 

The crumble had been a recipe of Greg's mother, it was always a staple in the house, served up for Christmas and on Sunday lunches among with special occasions. It was impossible for Greg not to talk about it with a smile creeping upon his face as cherished memories of lunches with his large family that ended with crumble topped with ice cream or custard. It made perfect sense to make a crumble, it seemed like the least that he could do for Greg, it would be the perfect way to thank him for putting up for him. 

Mycroft knew that he was a difficult man to be with and he still could not understand why one Gregory Lestrade was willingly wanting to be with him and how he had managed to cope with being in a relationship with him for several months. He did like to subscribe to the theory that Greg had gone mad from working with his brother over the years or that he had spent far too much time around Sherlock's experiments.

The two of them had known another for years, conversations would be had in the back of black cars or in hospital cafes at the start and revolved around Sherlock. It soon progressed to asking about each others days and political gossip as they shared smokes under the shelter of an umbrella against the rain. It had been a surprise when Greg had asked him out for dinner five months ago, they had a meeting in the Diogenes, Greg had been there to drop off case files and for a chat which had become a recent addition. It was as Greg left, he asked him out for dinner. He had been taken by surprise and did not understand his intentions until Greg had grabbed him by his lapels and kissed him, the only thing that Mycroft could do was kiss him back, it was the only polite response and he did not know when he would have the opportunity to do so again.

They had only been together for a few months and Mycroft never thought that happiness was possible. He knew that he was not easy to be with, relationships had never been his expertise. Greg had been kind and patient, he seemed intent to melt the thick stone walls and the ice that he thought that he had inside of his heart. He introduced the concepts of lazy evenings spent on the sofa watching films and cuddling and the Sunday morning lie-in and breakfast in bed, and sleepy morning sex to his life. Greg seemed to understand his work schedule, his own was almost as demanding. Mycroft tried to accommodate Greg into his work-life balance, he had started to work from home more often, Rosie had been the main reason for the change in working habits but Greg seemed to appreciate it. 

He had tried to think of the best way to repay Greg for his kindness and his large heart and making a crumble seemed to be the best thing to do. HE had considered everything under the sun but nothing seemed good enough to gift Greg. Mycroft wanted something to come from the heart and Greg had always been rather sentimental about hand made gifts. He loved Rosie's scrawlings in crayons which were proudly handed to him with sticky fingers and he always made such a fuss over her and showered her with praise. 

Mycroft congratulated himself on his crumble as he placed it into the oven. It had taken three attempts to make one, it had to be perfect for his Gregory. Mycroft tried to hide his sigh as he inspected the crumble through the glass door of the oven. He knew that it would not be enough to repay him no matter how good the crumble was. 

He had been tempted to say those three words, they had threatened to slip out on occasion when Mycroft least expected it. He had done extensive research and he had come to the conclusion that he was in love. As much as he wanted to say it, Mycroft was nervous. He did not know how to say it. He did not know how to say them first, he had never done it before. He knew that it was not just another relationship: Greg practically lived in his flat once he caught a glimpse of his empty fridge and Mycroft had been more than willing to adjust his working hours for him, he had never wanted to do that before for his previous attempts of relationships in the past. 

He hoped that the crumble would be able to show Greg how much he cared. If Mycroft was lucky, it would be able to suggest to Greg that he loved him. It would never be enough, but his nerves would never allow him to say those three words. 

"What on earth has happened to your kitchen?" Followed the noise of Greg's footsteps and the soft click of the door. "Looks like a bomb has gone off in here."

Mycroft straightened up and tried to brush off the flour off his trousers. "How was your day?" Mycroft asked, as he happily accepted the kiss that Greg had placed on his lips. He immediately started the process of making tea, he felt that needed to reward himself for his efforts in the kitchen with a mug of well-sugared tea. It would hopefully motivate him to attend to the large pile of dishes in the sink. 

Greg shrugged off his coat and his bag and threw them on a kitchen chair. "Your brother is a bloody idiot but brilliant. We did manage to get wrapped up early because of him though," he said, his expression was of amusement. "I never thought that I would see you in an apron. What have you been cooking?"

Mycroft shuffled awkwardly on his feet and he kept his eyes on the kettle. "It's a crumble, an apple crumble," Mycroft murmured, almost shyly. "I thought that you could do with a treat, you have been so busy at work recently."

He kept his back to Greg almost as if it could prevent the words from slipping out or his expression would give things away. While he knew that Greg had a large heart and gave lovely freely and without restraint, Mycroft was not sure that it applied to him. "Are you wanting tea or would you prefer coffee?" Mycroft asked nervously. 

"I love you too, Mycroft Holmes," Greg said suddenly, his voice full of certainly. He walked over and kissed him, an expression of tenderness was on his face. "I should have said something before, I didn't want to scare you off. You don't have to say it, I know that this is your Mycroftian way of doing things."

Relief seemed to crash through Mycroft and he felt almost giddy, it was a rather momentous occasion. He felt as if he should do something to celebrate such an important matter, but they ate the crumble that evening and Greg stayed over for the evening. It was a bit of an anti-climatic way of announcing a declaration of love, but in the best way, as it was a rather tasty crumble.   
  
Once again that evening as Greg had taken him to bed, Mycroft congratulated himself on his excellent decision to make a crumble and to have accepted Gregory Lestrade's offer to go out with dinner with him five months ago. It was possibly the best decision that he had made. 


	2. The Small Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Over the years, Greg had become familiar with the signs and he was rather good at spotting the small changes despite Mycroft's attempts to be discreet with them. No matter how many times Greg had walked Mycroft out of the wood and how many times he told Mycroft that he was beautiful and brilliant, Mycroft ended up walking down that familiar path. 
> 
> Greg was always there to guide him out each and every time, nothing would make him stop. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a prompt that was inspired by KSForever who prompted me for a St. Greg fic with Mycroft who was embarrassed by his body. Hopefully, this will not disappoint!

Over the years, Greg had become familiar with the signs and he was rather good at spotting the small changes despite Mycroft's attempts to be discreet with them. No matter how many times Greg had walked Mycroft out of the wood and how many times he told Mycroft that he was beautiful and brilliant, Mycroft ended up walking down that familiar path. 

Greg was always there to guide him out each and every time, nothing would make him stop. 

He had first noticed the signs before he started his relationship with Mycroft. He had been taken by surprise when he first realised that Mycroft struggled with his body image. He could not understand why someone such as Mycroft Holmes would be hung up on something such as trivial as appearances at first. Mycroft was potentially had one of the brightest minds in the world and he was a man with great power despite Mycroft's insistence that he only held a 'minor position in the British government.' 

He had been taken back when he had met Mycroft Holmes for the first time. He had first come across when he was outside Sherlock's hospital room and Greg was positive that his jaw had hit the ground...Mycroft was not what he had expected or how Sherlock portrayed him to be. 

He had been working with Sherlock for two months before he met Mycroft. Mycroft had been brought up in conversation by Sherlock on a regular basis (his name said in a tone of disgust). Sherlock was sleeping on his sofa at the time and Greg successfully managed to get bits and pieces of information from Sherlock about his brother over his wobbly dinner table as they ate beans and toast. Sherlock never talked about his brother in a positive nature and had created a caricature of him of some sorts. Sherlock rarely used his name and referred to him as 'The mammoth,' and 'Fatcroft,' among other names. 

When he had first met Mycroft outside Sherlock's hospital rooms, Greg was taken by surprise. He was not sure what the had been expecting but he did not expect to see a tall and striking auburn-haired man in a suit. Greg was almost positive that he had fallen for him instantly, he had always been a bit of a romantic. He was convinced that if the situation was different and they were not outside Sherlock's hospital room if the two of them were not sick with worry about Sherlock, they might have not have danced around each other as much or for so long. 

He had noticed the first sign not long after he first lay his eyes on Mycroft. Upon waking up, Sherlock looked at Mycroft, rolled his eyes and insulted him about his weight. 

The icy expression that Mycroft had on his face dropped once Sherlock had said his insult. It was only for a moment and it was quickly hidden. Greg still noticed the expression of hurt on his face. 

He was quick to notice that look on Mycroft's face each time it cropped up over the years. It only took a poorly taken photo, a cruel comment from Sherlock or a deduction that was made, or when he had put on a pound or two, and the expression would appear on Mycroft's face. The changes soon started once the first seed had been planted in Mycroft's head. Mycroft always tried to be discreet when he implemented them and despite his efforts to hide, Greg always noticed them.

He had soon realised that the best way to get Mycroft out of the woods was to rip the thoughts out from his head by the roots before they had the chance to grow. 

The expression made its way on Mycroft's face when they were out for afternoon tea with Mrs Holmes. She had not spoken to Mycroft for several months and she had decided out of the blue that she was wanting to have a 'catch up.' It was not much of a catch-up, it felt more like an interrogation which was done over cream scones.   
  
Greg had invited himself along when Mycroft mentioned that his mother had a sudden desire to meet up with him. Greg had never been too fond of Mrs Holmes in their limited interactions with another. He had phoned her when Sherlock first started to sleep on his sofa, it was just a quick phone call to let her know that Sherlock was safe. She sounded rather disinterested in Sherlock and was more concerned about her soap operas being interrupted. His opinion of her darkened whenever Sherlock and Mycroft would mention their childhood and how they seemed to act like was normal for a mother to be disinterested in her children and sent them away to boarding school when they were seven and being constantly belittled by her. 

It had only taken one comment from her and the expression appeared on Mycroft's face. She had been surprisingly civil and polite until she made the comment and shattered Mycroft's confidence as he picked up a shortbread biscuit to accompany his cup of tea. 

"No wonder you have been putting on weight, Mikey," she said, swatting Mycroft's hand with her teaspoon. "You've had half a scone already and you are being so greedy. It is a wonder that Gregory has not said anything to you about it. He'll be wanting a newer model soon with the way that you are going."

It was almost instantly that Mycroft's confidence was shattered, Greg could see it leave him and he saw how Mycroft visibly retreated into his shell. Mycroft dropped the biscuit as if it was straight out of the oven. Greg picked up their coats and escorted Mycroft out of the hotel within thirty seconds of the words coming out of her mouth. 

The changes started not long after, they are different each time. Greg often felt guilty that he did not always pick up on them right away as Mycroft was often so discreet at times. 

It started off with just a sudden health kick and an interest in healthy eating and exercise. The blender that had been gathering dust in the back of the cupboard had been put onto the counter and Mycroft was willingly drinking something that looked like it came out of the Thames in the morning. The treadmill had started to get used more often and he had started to willingly join Greg for his morning runs. Greg had never thought much about it and he was pleased that Mycroft was wanting to spend time away from his desk and he enjoyed the company when he jogged as the two of them hardly spent any time together because of their work. 

There was the sudden disinterest in restaurants and Mycroft had forbidden any treats to be in the cupboard and it was accompanied by Mycroft becoming insistent about doing the weekly shop himself. 

He only twigged that something was not right when Mycroft had started to have a very sudden interest in cooking. There was a new pile of recipe books in the shelf and they started to watch more cooking programs on the telly during their lazy Sunday mornings in bed. Mycroft was working at home more often and Greg would often come back to see his partner in an apron standing over the cooker. He had become too amused by the sight to have noticed that there was a kitchen scale on the counter.

"We should go out for dinner tomorrow," Greg said one evening when they were at the dinner table. "You've been cooking all week and you deserve to have a night off. We can always go to the restaurant that does that chocolate lava cake you love."

Mycroft wrinkled his nose in disgust at his comment and stabbed a mushroom on his plate. "I have been enjoying doing the cooking, Gregory," Mycroft told him. "It is such a performance to get dressed up to go to dinner after we've been working all day...I think that we should use the money on a holiday instead of wasting it all on restaurants, they are so ridiculously overpriced." 

He looked over at Mycroft's plate and realised that his portion was considerably smaller than his own, the majority of the plate was taken up by green leaves and looked plainer than his own. "Is that all you are eating?" Greg asked. "You must be hungry after being on your treadmill before dinner. I've picked up some ice cream for pudding, thought that you could do with a treat."

Mycroft said nothing in response and put a forkful of leaves in his mouth to silence himself. There is a phone call from work that takes Mycroft away from the table and into his office, . It almost felt a bit too convenient for Greg's liking. 

The second change followed not long after. 

Greg had barely seen Mycroft in days, there had been an urgent matter at work and he had been stuck in the office. He would catch glimpses of Mycroft in the morning in the kitchen before he left for work and he would sneak into bed when Greg was asleep. 

Greg had never been too thrilled when Mycroft's hours were like this and kept him chained to his desk at all hours. Mycroft was similar to his brother when the need arose, the two of them seemed to act like they were not human, they did not eat or sleep until the task was done. He neglected to look after himself, meals were often neglected and sleep was just a concept when he got so absorbed into his work. 

When he was like this, every day without fail, Greg would make sure that Mycroft would eat. He would leave out a generous portion of dinner on a plate and just needed to be heated up in the microwave when Mycroft eventually came into the office. He tried to wake up early in the morning to make sure that Mycroft had something in him before he left, but that did not always happen as Mycroft was already away before Greg could force himself to wake up or he had been working until the early hours of the morning and Mycroft insisted that he stayed in bed. Every lunchtime, he would go over to Mycroft's office and bring him lunch. Even though Mycroft claimed to be extremely busy with work, he always had a spot in his schedule for a small break for him. It was just time for a coffee and a quick chat, but it was often the highlight of their day. 

He decided to pop into Mycroft's office one morning with an almond croissant from the fancy bakery that he loved. By the time Greg had woken up that morning, Mycroft was already out of the kitchen and there was only a single mug on the drying rack. He had also noticed that the plate of pasta that he had kept for Mycroft the night before had not been touched and was still in the fridge. He had a growing suspicion that Mycroft had skipped a few meals recently and decided to bring a croissant to his office to guarantee that he had something in him. 

When he arrived in Mycroft's office, Greg knew that something was not right and he could see the signs as bright as day. 

Mycroft almost looks fearful when the croissant is brought onto his desk and he suddenly developed an interest in his paperwork. The croissant is left neglected on the desk and was untouched the whole time that Greg is in his office. 

When Greg dropped his phone and reached down under the desk to get it, he catches a glimpse of the bin. 

He knew instantly that Mycroft was starting to walk down that horrid path once more once he sees the sandwiches that he has brought over to the office in the bin. They have barely been touched and half-eaten discarded the moment that he has left Mycroft's office. 

"Did you not eat dinner last night?" Greg asked over his takeaway cup of coffee. 

Mycroft glanced up from his pile of paperwork. "I was not hungry," he said. "I had a lunch meeting that carried on longer than expected and there were sandwiches for a meeting at dinner."

"What did you eat for lunch at this meeting?"

Mycroft silent for a moment and he hesitated before speaking. "Thai food," he eventually answered. "Chicken Pad Thai." 

His nose wrinkled and he went to his work and Greg instantly knew that he was lying. "I'm not going to be home for dinner," Mycroft said, his eyes not leaving his work. "I've got a lot of work to do in the office, it's an important matter."

"You are going to take a break and eat though," Greg ordered lightly. "I know that it is far too easy for you to lose track of time and forget to eat, especially when I'm not around putting a plate in front of you. You need to look after yourself, Myc. I'll go and bring something for you for dinner, yeah?"

"You do not have to do that," Mycroft murmured. "It is another dinner meeting that I will be having to attend."

His nose wrinkled once more and he did not look up from his work. 

Once he kissed Mycroft goodbye and he left the office, Greg caught something in the corner of his eye through the gap in the door. He watched Mycroft pick up the neglected croissant and put it into the bin with a sigh. The expression was on his face and he could see the slump in Mycroft's shoulders. 

Greg intervened when the third change started. 

Mycroft started to become rather shy around him after they had that afternoon tea with his mother, almost seeming to have reverted to how he acted at the start of their relationship. 

He was always fully dressed in his full armour whenever Greg sees him around the flat regardless of the time of day. The most that he will take off in front of him is his jacket, his tie or his waistcoat, the armour is still on. It is only removed when Mycroft goes to bed and he gets dressed in the spare bedroom or the bathroom almost as if he is frightened of his lover's eyes on him.

There was a lack of shared showers together. Mycroft would almost physically shudder on occasion when Greg would wrap his arms around his waist or lean in close when he least expected it. The light goes off as they tumbled into bed together and they kissed like teenagers. It was a small sign that took place the evening after the afternoon tea, it had stirred something within Greg, but he ended up getting distracted when Mycroft sank to his knees. He did wish that he had noticed it sooner and he could have ripped out the seed that Mycroft's mother planted into his brain before it had a chance to grow. 

It was a sleepy Sunday morning and they've both got the day off. There was a large space in the bed and there was a lack of a warm weight pressed onto his body, but there is the smell of fresh coffee on the nightstand. 

"Good morning, darling," Mycroft murmured and pressed a kiss onto his forehead as he slipped back into bed with the newspaper. He has nowhere to go on a Sunday morning and it is not even seven in the morning, but Mycroft is fully dressed. He was not wearing his armour but it might as well be, there are several layers to his outfit, he's wearing the jumper that Greg had bought him for his birthday, the one where the blue brings out the colour of his eyes. 

He has been with Mycroft for three years and he has known him for ten, Greg still found himself taken back by how beautiful he was. It almost hurt that Mycroft did not see it or seem to believe him when he complimented him.

They have coffee in bed and they cuddle together, it slowly progresses into slow kisses and teasing strokes. There was no reason to rush, they've got all of the time in the world today. It was why Sundays were Greg's favourite day of the week, it was just the two of them and they were unbothered from the world. Sunday allowed them to compensate for all of the time together that they missed, they often did not leave bed until eleven and basked in another's company. 

The lamp by the bed gets flicked off by Mycroft as he straddled Greg's lap and tugged at his shirt and pressed kisses down his neck. There was a glimpse of light that enters the bedroom through a gap in the curtains and covered Mycroft in its radiance. Greg would want nothing more than to take a picture or get a portrait painted of this moment of time and show it in a gallery, and show Mycroft how beautiful he was, it might be the only way for Mycroft to believe his words. 

He has managed to strip Mycroft out of the majority of his clothing, his jumper and the trousers quickly come off with enthusiasm. His shirt remains no matter how much it is has gotten crinkled and rumbled from the foreplay. Greg tried to peel it off and slowly shove his hands under the hem, but they were batted away by Mycroft and guided somewhere else or Mycroft had kissed or touched him in a particularly wonderful way that Greg will never tire of. It is a distraction from letting him remove that last piece of fabric that is between them.

While it is a wonderful distraction, Mycroft masking his insecurities with desire and Greg decided that it was time to intervene. 

He's had to guide Mycroft out of the woods so many times and he will never stop doing it. It will be a battle that he will have to enter again and again, it has only gotten easier to end it as the years passed. He can recognise the signs and he could even prevent the seeds from embedding themselves into Mycroft's head on occasion. He has never been afraid of dealing with Mycroft's insecurities, he still hurts terribly when he notices the changes. He hates the look of fear that makes its way into Mycroft's eyes when menus are brought to the table or dessert is even mentioned. He hates how Mycroft becomes scared of his eyes and how he avoids him when he is feeling like this, almost as if he has an awful secret that he has been hiding and the world will come crashing down the moment that he sees Mycroft without a shirt on. That Greg will immediately fall out of love with him. It hurts even more how Mycroft will skip meals and throw food away as he does not believe that he deserves to eat. He hated how a comment from his mother, a jibe from Sherlock, or an item of clothing that felt slightly more snug could send him down this spiral. 

Greg knew that he could not fix the problem entirely and there was a reason that Mycroft had a weekly therapy session, he does the most that he can. He can guide Mycroft out of the path and cover him with his unconditional love and support. it is they've had to work through a lot of Mycroft's problems before and they've had victories over those battles. The battle over Mycroft's body image was a recruiting fight and it did not seem to leave him, Greg was always there to help heal with wounds with his neverending supply of love and care, nothing would ever make him stop. 

He's flipped Mycroft onto his back and he's tried to tease the buttons of Mycroft's shirt open, Mycroft is quick to resist his attempts to remove his shirt and kisses him messily to distract him, he begged to be touched and it was impossible to resist.

"You are hiding from me, Myc," Greg murmured once he was settled between Mycroft's thighs and they were slowly moving together. He loved seeing Mycroft like this, he has removed most of his shields in the course of their relationship, the last few barriers are completely removed in this closeness. He was panting and whimpering, only quiet murmurs of Greg's name can leave his lips, his mind has partly switched off and it is clear that he is enjoying the closeness, he feels safe when he's like this. 

"Greg," Mycroft murmured after a long moment, his brain taking a moment to reboot. There is a short intake of breath once he realises what Greg has just said. "I do not understand what you are talking about." 

"Your shirt is still on, love," Greg murmured, stilling his movements. 

Mycroft protests slightly and hid his face in Greg's shoulder. 

"You are worried about your body, aren't you?" Greg asked he knew the answer already. 

Mycroft shook his head and his nose wrinkled. He shook slightly and he's gone slightly pale. He's scared and fearful and Greg can almost hear his mother's words ring through Mycroft's head. Greg can remember those words as clear as day and despite his reassurances to Mycroft that he is never going to leave him, Mycroft is still reluctant to believe him. He knows that Mycroft has been burned so many times and he's still afraid to let himself to get too happy in fear that it will be taken away from him. 

"You know that nothing is ever going to change how I feel about you?" Greg murmured as he cradled Mycroft's head with his hand and rubbed his cheek with his thumb. "Nothing has changed in the slightest...I think that I love you more with each day."

Mycroft shook his head when he eventually spoke, his voice tight and can barely be heard. "Half a stone."

Greg had noticed the weight but it was healthy and Mycroft looked good with it. He had lost a good bit of weight due to stress after dealing with a potential world crisis and he had been abroad for several weeks. He used to stress eat years ago, but it turned onto his head and had a lack of appetite when he was stressed, partly due to belief that he did not deserve to eat when he was dealing with a world crisis and he could not fix it right away. It was an issue that he was still working on. 

"I just don't...please don't leave," Mycroft quivered before Greg had the chance to open his mouth in response. "I know that...you could do a lot better than me."

Greg was not sure if it was just the light but he caught a glimpse of Mycroft's blink and you'll miss them tears. He kisses Mycroft dearly when he could feel his heart tug horribly in his chest with despair and there was an ache in his chest. "Nothing is going to make me do that," he murmured. "I told that I had fallen for you when I first met you. I'm not letting your mother or anyone talk or make a comment to you like that ever again, you only deserve to be loved."

He wrapped Mycroft tight in his arms when he saw the tears and stroked his hair in the attempt to hush him. "You are so bloody gorgeous and nothing will ever change my mind, you need to trust me. I'm always going to be here for you." 

It is difficult for Mycroft just to believe the words that he has spoken, so Greg had to show him how much he loves him. He has to pour all of the love, care and affection onto Mycroft's wounds, it is the most that he can do as he has not figured out how to deal with Mycroft's mother other than encouraging him to end his limited contact with her, as she only makes him miserable and rips him into ribbons with her infrequent phone calls and the rare occasion when she wanted to meet up with him. He'll figure out how to fix the problem eventually but he needed to tend to Mycroft's wounds and give him all the support that he needed. 

He did hope that it would be enough to heal him enough until the battle would start again. 

"You are so beautiful," Greg murmured, his hand ran through Mycroft's hair, he pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You are worth so much more than just numbers on a scale, I love every single thing about you. You are so much happier now than you were years ago. It really does show, you look so radiant and I'm still completely mad for you. I fell for you again when I saw this morning in that jumper or when I caught you in the sunlight. I'm actually can't believe that I get to be with you, I feel like I've won the lottery every time that I see you."

He tried to put as much sincerity into his voice and he was aware that the words he said were cheesy. He knew that and Mycroft always complained about them, but he did love them even if he was too proud to admit it. 

Mycroft's shuddered but he smiled slightly, it was shy and it was hidden but Greg could see it. He could see his love pour into Mycroft and fill his senses like a storm in a desert and he could watch the healing begin. They still have a lot of work to do to end this battle, but Greg is fairly certain that he's managed to get to the root of the problem and that the rest will be easy enough to deal with. 

Mycroft eventually gets impatient after a while, he starts to kiss him deeply and rock slightly. 

Greg was more familiar with his part, it wasn't just sex that Mycroft wanted, he wanted to make love. Greg was more than happy to comply and did not get his hands battered away when he teased Mycroft's buttons open. Their breathing was intertwined with another and their limbs tangled up. Greg's was going to help him get out of the woods and out of this path. He knows the route well and it was easier to leave them each and every time. 

They were tangled up in another's arms. Greg had realised that the coffee has gone cold. He also realised that Mycroft's shirt had been discarded to the floor. They stay in bed until noon and he brought Mycroft breakfast in bed. He still hesitated when he started to eat, the fearful look in his eye was there for a moment when he first saw the thick slices of sourdough toast on the plate, but with Greg's encouraging smile, he ate. Greg ensures that lunch and dinner are eaten as well, the plates are emptied and nothing is thrown away.

That night, his hands were not swatted away when he unbuttoned Mycroft's shirt. The light does not stay on right away, it is still a work in progress.

There was always going to be a battle for Mycroft, but hopefully, there wouldn't be a war in quite some time. Greg knew that he was always going to help him through it and help him heal with his love and care, nothing was going to change that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out longer than expected, I did feel rather inspired by this prompt. 
> 
> Also, a thank you for everyone who has supported this story so far! I've never really tried to do anything like this before, so I'm glad that people have enjoyed it! I thought that this would be the best way to improve my writing with different prompts and to tackle different subjects through writing, and I would love any suggestions thrown to me!


	3. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mycroft noticed a familiar wristwatch on the arm that was wrapped around his middle and he let out a groan.
> 
> He knew that the fourth glass of scotch was a mistake. The wine that accompanied the wonderful meal that was made for him did not help the situation. "

It was a throb in his head and the feeling like death had warmed up that managed to drag Mycroft out of sleep.

Once he managed to open his eyes, Mycroft realised that the ceiling that he was looking was not his. As he tried to avoid looking at the window, the curtains were open and the sun was shining obnoxiously bright, Mycroft focused on the ceiling. There was a damp stain on the ceiling that was by the door and there was an equally large spider web that was on the left side of the room. 

The bed was not his own, it was far too uncomfortable for his liking. The duvet and the sheets felt cheap and were not a patch on his own. The pillow that he rested his head on was flat and he could feel the outline of a bed spring digging into his lower back. He did not realise that there was someone in the bed with him until he felt a warm weight lying across his stomach, an arm that was holding him tightly. 

Mycroft noticed a familiar wristwatch on the arm that was wrapped around his middle and he let out a groan.

He knew that the fourth glass of scotch was a mistake. The wine that accompanied the wonderful meal that was made for him did not help the situation. 

He rarely enjoyed being in the presence of another person and he tended to prefer his own company the majority of the time. Gregory Lestrade was the exception when it came to interacting with another human. He was one of the few people that Mycroft willingly spent time with and he usually found himself keen to engage in conversation with him, it had taken Mycroft by surprise when the realisation hit him. He could even consider Greg to be a close friend if he had to place a label on their relationship with another. 

That itself had surprised him greatly as he had little desire for friends. Mycroft did not even know if he was capable of having friends, he had given up on trying to make friends when he was twelve. He did briefly consider making friends again once he was in university but he found other students to be loud and obvious. He had tried his best to be friendly with the other students in his halls but he did not like the mess they left in the kitchen and they never invited him to the pub when they invited everyone, and they spent the next three years tormenting him. 

He never did expect to be friends with Greg, their friendship crept upon him slowly. It was something that Mycroft cherished even if he was reluctant to admit it. Their conversations revolved around Sherlock at the start and he was the only matter that was discussed for several years apart from small talk in hospital cafes and as they smoked under the shelter of his umbrella when it rained. They started to meet up for a coffee before work several times a week and it was often the highlight of Mycroft's day (he was reluctant to admit that as well). 

It soon progressed to meeting up after work for drinks or going out to eat. Greg even texted him and phoned when he was away on business or when he was bored at work. Mycroft had been surprised when he had first recieved a poorly spelt text message with a smiley face when he was at the office one afternoon. The first thing that he did was scold Greg for his poor grammar and spelling, and how smiley faces were not professional and that he should text properly. A message came back within moments, somehow the spelling was even more appalling and he recieved text messages that just consisted of stupid smiley faces and other hieroglyphs that Mycroft did not understand. He never did like texting and found it unprofessional but he tolerated texts from Greg. 

The conversations about Sherlock and small talk about work ended shortly after the texting. He lost the formality and stopped calling him _Gregory_ and somehow agreed to call him _Greg_. He learned how Greg had three half-sisters and two half brothers, that his parents split up when he was a child and quickly remarried. He learned that Greg liked to bake when he had free time and that he could make a deadly sourdough loaf that made Mycroft gain four pounds even just looking at it. That Greg could speak French fluently and he spent many months on holiday with his grandparents in the French countryside as his parents and thier new families did not have space for him when he bounced between households during the summer. 

Greg slept in his spare bedroom in his flat once the divorce happened and he found himself somehow managing to comfort him until he got back on his feet. 

Mycroft missed him terribly once he left, he had grown accustomed to the meals that Greg cooked, having conversations and company every day. He even found himself missing the football on the television, he never watched as he found the sport tedious but Mycroft enjoyed the company. He enjoyed listening to Greg talk about the rules of football and the merits of each player on the teams. He had even tried to get Greg to teach him the off-side rule several times as it was a topic that Greg got strangely passionate about. 

It was difficult adapting to the silence of the flat once Greg had moved out and found himself a flat. He found himself not wanting Greg to leave but he could never say anything. He had been the idiot who hired a van to assist Greg with the move and he had bought him a potted plant for his new flat. Mycroft had never been one for regrets and he had never been one to dwell on the past. He had always found that any time wasted on regretting any actions was a waste of time, but he found himself regretting the things that he did not do and did not say. Once Greg left his flat with his last box, it had suddenly become more difficult to ignore his feelings for the other man that he had suppressed over the years. 

He had wanted to say something so many times but he feared the rejection. He feared to lose the friendship more than anything and he did not want for it to be put through a shredder and ripped to threads. He had found himself becoming less comfortable with the prospect of being alone for the rest of his life and the isolation that would come with it, other people did not like him and he had a similar sentiment towards them. 

The four glasses of scotch had been a massive mistake and Mycroft felt his friendship falling out of his hand like grains of sand. 

Greg had invited him to his flat the evening before, it had been a long day at work and Greg had decided to make a lasagna for the two of them. Being the gentleman he was, he had asked if he should bring wine. Greg had refused, he mentioned that he had plenty of bottles in the back of the cupboard as gifts from when he moved into his flat. Mycroft decided that scotch would have to suffice and he had brought a nice bottle from his office, a single malt that had been aged for thirty years, a gift from the First Minister of Scotland during the business of the 2014 campaign. 

He had wanted to impress Greg and he had made sure that he was dressed to the nines (he was the majority of the time). He liked to make more of an effort when he was out with Greg, he had the childish fantasy that one day, Greg would suddenly declare affections for him and things would progress. The first time that the idea had appeared in his head and lingered for several days, Mycroft stopped watching his classic film collection for several weeks, convinced that his exposure to the films had put the silly ideas in his head. 

He knew that Greg would never be interested in him anyway. He knew that Greg liked men, it had come up in conversation one evening when they were watching Blackadder together not long after Greg's divorce. Mycroft stupidly allowed himself to get hopeful but he did not say anything, it was an inappropriate time to say anything, Greg had finally gotten out of his depressive slump and his grief over the end of his marriage and it would surely have ended in rejection anyway. Mycroft knew that he was not a Cary Grant and he had never attempted a relationship before. 

He had never enjoyed being in positions where he had little expertise in, his perfectionism never allowed him to be in a situation where he might fail. Failing would mean that he would lose Greg and Mycroft could not allow himself to do that. 

The perfectionism also told him that Greg would never be interested in someone like him, he was not thin enough and his nose was too hawk-like. There was always someone who would be so much better suited for Greg than he would even be. Greg had attempted to date several women since the divorce and he found himself disliking them immensely. There was hardly any appropriate words to describe how he felt when Greg was flirting with a very attractive man when they were out for drinks once. He was going to say something to Greg that evening but the words died in his mouth and he wanted nothing more than to go home once he caught Greg slip a napkin with a phone number into his trouser pocket. 

He also feared that he would do something that would push Greg away, he had never been the best with people and he often found himself saying the wrong thing. That his heart was made of ice and Greg would get sick of him and his struggles with understanding and processing his emotions. Mycroft had made a considerable attempt to defrost himself and meltdown the ice in his chest from after years of torment from his classmates, the rejection from his mother and Sherlock, and the horrors that he had seen from his short career doing fieldwork and behind his desk. It was easier to function when his heart was frozen and he could detach himself emotionally from his work.

He had found himself wanting to change once he and Greg had become friends. It was a project that Greg took to enthusiastically and he had helped him defrost with ease. There was something about Greg that radiated warmth and kindness, he could give love freely and it never seemed to run out. Mycroft was almost positive that he had an endless supply of it in his heart. He found the quality nauseating in anyone else, but with Greg, it was endearing and it was Mycroft's favourite quality about him. 

Greg stirs in his sleep and his arm wraps around Mycroft's waist tighter and his head pressed against his back. As much as he wanted to enjoy the feeling of being in Greg's bed and wrapped up in his arms, Mycroft could not enjoy the feeling. He had imagined it several times over the years and he had enjoyed being cuddled by Greg in the past. They had fallen asleep on the sofa together several times when watching the film together. Mycroft had felt safe and protected, it was honestly the best that he had slept for years after the first time that it happened. They never talked about it, it was a regular thing that happened. 

Mycroft knew that the previous evening and the morning would be something that they would never talk about. He almost feels heartbroken at the idea, this would be the perfect way to talk about his feelings and he could confess about how he felt to Greg, but he knows that the words will never come out. There will be a stone that makes his way into his throat and he would not be able to even say the words. His nearly three hundred years of British emotional repression will prevent him from even confessing and encourage him to avoid the elephant in the room. He wouldn't even be able to talk about the wonderful lasange that Greg made, the film and the glasses of scotch followed shortly. 

It will be impossible to not trip over the elephant's trunk if he talked about the film he watched with Greg. The memory is still fuzzy but he can remember looking at Greg after the two of them were laughing at a silly joke, the alcohol had reached his brain by then. He could remember clear as day, the two of them shared a certain look and they started kissing. Mycroft is not sure who initiated that first kiss, but he could remember straddling Greg's lap, removing his shirt and kissing him as if his life depended on it. He could remember Greg guiding him to the bedroom and opening up his trousers and his hand-

Mycroft cannot allow himself to remember much more. It will prolong the pain if he allowed himself to dwell in the memories of what happened last night. The conversation that will happen between them and the eventual rejection will cause him pain, Mycroft wished that he would be able to turn his insides into ice. 

He did often wonder there were any signs, just a small bit of information that would confirm that Greg had similar feelings for him. Mycroft cannot allow himself to get caught up in the notion and he knew that this evening had been a mistake. A stupid mistake that happened after four glasses of scotch and they would never talk about it. 

Greg would never feel the same, Mycroft knew that he had to accept that truth no matter how bitter it was. There would be someone so much better for Greg than he would ever be. It was better to deal with that fact than lose a perfectly wonderful friendship. He could deal with the elephant that suddenly moved into Greg's flat, he would try his best to ignore it and avoid tripping over his trunk. 

At the end of the day, it does not matter how he feels. It has never mattered, his feelings come second in his own life. The only important thing is that Greg finds someone suitable and he is happy, that they treat him so much better than his ex-wife ever did. Mycroft was just foolish enough to allow himself to get swept up in the notion that he might be the one to do that for Greg. He decided to get rid of his films and lock them, he could not allow himself to get the silly ideas in his head. 

Mycroft tried to slip out of bed unnoticed and he tried to assemble his suit from the pieces of clothing that were pooled around the floor. His tie was knotted to the headboard and there was an interesting mark on his wrist that was not their before. His shirt is painfully creased and is tangled up in the duvet and he cannot find the underwear that he wore the day before. He tried to hide his sigh and made a vow to never drink scotch again. 

"What are you doing?" Greg's voice stopped Mycroft in his search for his belt. 

It was six in the morning and it was almost ridiculous how beautiful he looked. He was spread out on the bed, the duvet covering him like a white cape, the top of his head was only visible, the hair ruffled beyond repair as if fingers had been running through and tugging it. Greg cracked an eyelid open and Mycroft could catch a glimpse of that charming grin.

As much as he wanted to crawl back into Greg's bed, Mycroft cannot allow himself to do so. "I was called into the office," Mycroft murmured as he picked up a pile of clothes and he tried to find his bed. "I've outstayed my welcome." 

Greg sat up in the bed and scrubbed a tired hand over his face. He dared to smile despite the situation, perhaps he had not processed it properly or he had just did not consider it to be a massive deal, that he could not see the elephant at this time in the morning. "I think that you are trying to sneak out on me," he said. "We need to talk about-"

Mycroft cut him off quickly and cleared his throat. "It was a mistake. We had too much scotch and it was...a mistake," Mycroft faltered. 

The belt was located by the top of Greg's chest of drawers and Mycroft had little idea how it got there. He was a bit too focused on Greg unzipping his trousers at that point and Greg sinking to his knees to even remember. "I can get out of your hair and allow you to nurse your hangover," Mycroft said with a tone of finality. "I am so sorry for what happened. I know that I'm- this was a mistake for you."

"I don't think that this was a mistake," Greg murmured sitting up in bed, gesturing with his hand. "Do you think that it was a mistake?"

"I'm not what you want," Mycroft said, the words are more for himself than for Greg. "Gregory, I cannot lose you...I value this friendship too much just to lose it over a drunken mistake...I need to go to the office."

Greg frowned and there was a hurt look on his face that Mycroft had only seen right after his divorce. "There is a shirt in the wardrobe that might fit you, God forbid that you go out in a creased shirt," Greg attempted to joke, his voice painfully tight. "There is some boxers and socks in the drawer as well. I'll go and make you some tea."

Greg stood up wrapped himself up in his dressing-gown before he pulled out a shirt from the back of the wardrobe. A pair of grey boxers follow and a pair of socks with goldfish on them make their way into Mycroft's hands. "They were a gift from my niece," Greg grumbled in response to Mycroft's raised eyebrow. 

He showed Mycroft how the shower worked before he started to make tea. It was difficult to wash off the night before, the smell lingers as Mycroft massaged shower gel into his skin and scrubbed the shampoo in his hair. It felt almost like torture to have the scent of Greg on him all day and be reminded of the terrible mistake, and to have the knowledge that their friendship must be broken upon repair because he decided to bring that bottle of scotch over to Greg's flat for dinner. 

Greg's shirt does not fit him properly. Greg was slightly broader than he was and he never did go to a tailor for his clothes and it is one from M&S, the shirt hung off him slightly and the sleeves were slightly too short for Mycroft's liking. He had can hide the inadequacies of the shirt with his waistcoat and some careful tucking. The goldfish that are on his borrowed socks are easily hidden by his trousers and his shoes. The scent of Greg's shampoo and body wash was almost overpowering and it seemed to channel memories of the evening before as well as a wave of regret.

"Hey," Greg murmured once he had left the bedroom. "I just made you some toast before you go."

Mycroft nodded in greeting and allowed himself to sit at the table. He could see the glasses and the empty scotch bottle on the kitchen counter and he tried to ignore the feeling his chest, a pang of guilt for what happened that evening and for upsetting Greg. There is a sense of longing in there, he did miss the domesticity that Greg brought to his flat and how they would have breakfast together most mornings. Mycroft missed those days horribly when Greg moved out, things were simpler back then. 

He did not allow himself to make silly mistakes and he had been able to suppress his feelings with ease. He never thought that scotch would be the thing that ruined their friendship. 

The toast was a ploy to keep him in the flat. He would have thought that Greg would have used it to talk about what happened, instead, Greg happily chattered about his day off and his plans with his niece. There was still hurt in his eyes and his smile was tighter than usual, it was impossible to ignore. He wondered if Greg had realised that this was a mistake and that their friendship was more important. 

The toast felt incredibly dry and like cardboard when Mycroft started to wonder if Greg valued their friendship as much as he did. He could not allow himself to question it, a strange feeling crashed into him and it caused his chest to ache horribly when he thought about Greg ending the friendship. Mycroft felt his eyes sting slightly, he was not sure if it was from the bright kitchen light upsetting his headache. 

"This was not a mistake for me," Greg told him once he had slipped his coat on. "We do need to talk about this...I'll give you some time to think, yeah?"

Mycroft nodded and he felt Greg's lips on his. It was a chaste kiss, it only lasted a second but it was somewhat reassuring and gave him a feeling of hope. 

Mycroft scolded himself for being so childish and allowing himself to get swept away by it. "I have little experience in dealing with situations like this," Mycroft said honestly. "I'm sorry if this has ruined everything. It was my mistake."

"I kissed you first last night," Greg's voice was barely a whisper. "I'll phone you tonight, okay? We can talk about this once you've had time to think."

Mycroft nodded and he tried his best to smile. He slipped his gloves on and hesitated by the door, the words wanted to come out of his mouth so badly but they never did. The crumbs of toast clung to the back of his throat and prevented him from speaking. "I hope that we can remain friends, your friendship...It's something I hold dearly, Gregory." The words eventually managed to come out after several attempts, his voice was tight as if he had swallowed a stone. 

"We are always going to be mates, " Greg said with an attempt of a smile. He looked right into his eyes and clapped him on the shoulder, a half-hearted gesture, it was obvious that he was holding back. They usually tended to hug these days, the clap on the shoulder was saved for work colleagues and acquaintances at the pub. It had been over a year since he had recieved a clap the shoulder. "I shouldn't keep you waiting, there's probably a world crisis you need to deal with, Myc."

Mycroft nodded and eventually forced himself to leave the flat, the task was a lot more difficult than expected. The door of the flat closed with a loud thud, the silence that surrounded Mycroft felt deafening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a thank you for everyone who has supported this story so far! I'm actually surprised that people have enjoyed these little 'one-shot,' stories from me, especially as I'm using these to experiment with my writing! 
> 
> This chapter has been a bit of an experiment for me as I've never written anything like this before, I'm not one for really writing angst, so it was interesting to write and that I didn't tie up things as neatly as I like. I do feel a bit tempted to write a part two for this as well, not sure if anyone would be wanting it...
> 
> If anyone has a particular idea or prompt that they would like to be filled, then suggest away! 
> 
> My Tumblr is @hogwartsjaguar97


	4. The Elephant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " He wanted to talk about it and address the elephant that was wedged in between them, he finally dared to do so. He knew that Mycroft would do his best to ignore the elephant for as long as he could and brush the whole thing off as a drunken mistake in the attempt to keep things relatively normal between them. 
> 
> The problem with ignoring the elephant was that it was rather difficult to avoid tripping over its trunk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The follow-up story for chapter 3. I do apologise for the wait between chapters 
> 
> I do dedicate this to the lovely SeaweedWrites. I also give this to the wonderful Johnwatsonblog who has dealt with my complaining as I've been writing.

The door closed with a loud thud and the silence that crashed over the flat felt suffocating. 

It felt almost physically painful to allow Mycroft to leave his flat and watch him slip into a black car that was parked in the street. It felt as if it was the most stupid decision that he had ever made, letting Mycroft go. He would have chased after him in his dressing gown and talk to him in the street in the attempt to make things better. 

As much as he was prepared to run out in the street, Greg forced himself to stay in the flat. He gripped his fingers on the edge of the wooden kitchen chair until his knuckles turned white and his fingers started to ache. He gripped onto the chair for dear life as if that would stop him from following Mycroft. He knew that Mycroft needed time to think and process what happened between them last night. He knew that Mycroft also needed the space to think and to nurse the hangover. He also knew that there was no point in trying to talk to Mycroft when he only had half a cup of tea in him, Mycroft needed at least three cups of tea before he could even deal with another human being. It had been one of the first things that he had discovered when he stayed with Mycroft after the divorce, he wasn't that much better himself and needed at least of two large mugs of coffee to function. 

Greg put his head in his hands and sighed. He tried his best to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he had messed things up terribly and had completely ruined thier friendship, he had little idea how to salvage the pieces. He did not even know if he could even pick up the tatters and patch things up.

He knew that the two of them had overstepped the boundaries of their friendship. The two of them had been toeing the line for the last few weeks. He had been testing the waters by flirting and Mycroft seemed to respond to it well. Mycroft invited him to dinner or out for drinks at posh restaurants and swanky clubs regularly. They did not always go out for dinner or drinks, Greg often found himself coming over to Mycroft's home and he was content to spend the evening with a takeaway and a DVD. They could talk about anything with ease and conversations flowed smoothly, only stopping in the late hours of the evening or the early hours of the morning. 

Greg had tried to ignore his feelings for Mycroft but it had been difficult to suppress them. He almost felt like a teenager again with how smitten he was for him. He hadn't felt those fireworks or the butterflies in his stomach in years and he had almost been convinced that his wife had taken them away from him among with other bits and pieces of his life that she had taken from him in the divorce. 

Greg switched on the radio in the attempt to tune out the niggle in his brain that told him that he had possibly ruined everything. He did wonder if he had let himself get too caught up when he thought that he saw the hint of a green flag from Mycroft. He did not intend for last night to happen...It just happened. 

He planned to tell Mycroft how he felt...then the scotch happened. The first glass of scotch was for Dutch courage, he had always been terrible when it came to talking about his feelings and he felt that he was taking a risk when it came to Mycroft. A massive risk and he needed all the bravery that he could get. 

The classic film that Mycroft brought with the bottle of scotch was ignored that night. The conversation flowed as much as the alcohol and the two of them were pleasantly tipsy. There was one moment when Mycroft was laughing at a stupid joke that he told, a genuine laugh. It was a sound that Greg loved even if Mycroft was embarrassed by it, especially when he let out a snort. He enjoyed the knowledge that he was one of the few people who could get a genuine laugh out of Mycroft and he made it a mission of his to get Mycroft to laugh. 

The laughter suddenly stopped and there was a _look_ between them. 

It was with that look that Greg allowed himself to ignore the nerves that had been bothering him all evening. He did not say any of those words that he was wanting to say for months, the words could not make their way out of his mouth. Instead of attempting to get the words out, he leaned across the sofa and kissed Mycroft.

It was only a small kiss that lasted for a moment, it could have been passed off as a drunken mistake. Mycroft let out a surprised noise, it was almost a squeak. He had never heard Mycroft make a noise like that in the years that he had known him and before he could apologise, Mycroft climbed onto his lap and kissed him as if his life depended on it. 

It bothered him more than it should have when Mycroft told him that the evening before was a mistake. Greg knew that sleeping together had crossed the boundaries of friendship massively and it would be difficult to get back to the way things were before. He wanted to talk about it and address the elephant that was wedged in between them, he finally dared to do so. He knew that Mycroft would do his best to ignore the elephant for as long as he could and brush the whole thing off as a drunken mistake in the attempt to keep things relatively normal between them. 

The problem with ignoring the elephant was that it was rather difficult to avoid tripping over its trunk.

* * *

Greg had the nagging suspicion that Mycroft was avoiding him.

His calls had gone unanswered and the majority of the text messages that he sent had been ignored. 

It was hardly anything unusual, he understood the unpredictable nature of Mycroft's work and how Mycroft sometimes took time to get back to him. It was hardly anything suspicious but was rather convenient that Mycroft was suddenly ignoring his phone calls. Greg tried to not let it bother him, even if it was bloody difficult. The silence from Mycroft seemed to hammer in the fact that what happened was a mistake, that they had crossed the line far too much and ended a wonderful friendship.

As much as it would hurt and possibly make things worse between them, Greg wanted to talk about what happened. He knew that there was a good chance that he wouldn't get the result that he wanted but he felt that it was better to be rejected and clear the air between them. Greg disliked unfinished business and having to ignore any elephants. If they talked, they would be able to attempt to put that evening behind them and move on. 

As he knew that Mycroft suffered from three centuries of British emotional repression, Greg tolerated the near silence from Mycroft for three days. He knew that Mycroft needed the space to think and Greg was willing to give it to him. He doubted that Mycroft had been in a situation like theirs before and needed the time to figure out what he wanted or at least clear his head enough to talk about it. 

After three days, Greg had decided that he was bored with waiting and that he was fed up of Mycroft avoiding him.

Greg’s patience had grown thin after three days of near-silence from Mycroft. He had tried his best to get into contact with Mycroft and check up on him and reassure him that things were fine between them. Mycroft replied to those messages and only gave him a short answer of ‘ _I’m fine but currently busy_ ’, it was the same message each time that he received each morning. 

He knew that Mycroft was not busy and was avoiding him. He knew that Mycroft had actually taken a week of holiday from work, he had been the one to convince him to take some time off work. He had done the same and taken some well-earned time off to spend time with his niece. He and Mycroft had talked about having a day out of London together. He had been looking forward to getting London out of his lungs and doing a bit of sightseeing for weeks. After what happened that night, it had become clear that they would not be going.

Greg had never taken well to be ignored especially from someone who he cared about so deeply. He wanted to break the silence that had grown between them and he wanted to make things right. He knew that ignoring the elephant was not going to make it leave, letting grow would only damage their friendship even more than what happened that night.

The receptionist behind the counter hardly batted an eyelid when Greg had walked into the Diogenes that afternoon. He barely had time to flash her his card before she wordlessly directed to him to Mycroft’s private room before she pressed a button on her desk and turned back to her newspaper.

Greg had the privilege of being one of the few ‘strangers,’ who were allowed in the Diogenes Club and he was not restricted to the ‘ _stranger’s room_ ,’ unlike most visitors to the club. He was a regular visitor to Mycroft’s private office in the club and regularly joined Mycroft for lunch or if he wanted to chat on his break at work. He visited frequently enough that he could just walk into the Club without even showing his pass and he often walked into Mycroft’s office without even knocking.

Greg always hated the silence of the club and the fact that no one acknowledged another. He always had the urge to break the silence in the club. He always had the urge to break some of the expensive decorations or to pull down the curtains. He had the childish urge to shout rude words to see if they echoed off the wooden panelling on occasion, he restrained himself from doing so in the fear of giving one of the stuffy pensioners of the club a heart attack, going by the way they acted when he rustled a newspaper too loudly.

Greg invited himself into Mycroft’s office once he had knocked on the door. He hesitated by the door for a moment and he tried to summon up the courage to confront Mycroft. He did not even feel that angry that there had been near silence for Mycroft, he almost felt hurt that Mycroft had avoided him.

He could understand Mycroft’s fears of their friendship being ruined because of the evening. He feared about losing their friendship as well, he considered Mycroft to be his best friend. He would have laughed at the suggestion of Mycroft Holmes being his closest friend all those years ago. He had thought that Mycroft was a bit of a posh toff when he met him, but Greg was so pleased that he was wrong when he got to meet the real Mycroft Holmes. The Mycroft Holmes who enjoyed classic films and liked My Fair Lady, the Mycroft Holmes who had a massive sweet tooth. Mycroft Holmes who had always been there for him and let him stay in his flat after the divorce and had even taken him on a holiday up to Scotland in the attempt to cheer him up. 

He knew that he would be lost without Mycroft in his life and it would not be a happy existence without him in it.

Mycroft closed the file that he was reading and placed it on the table as Greg walked in. He stood up and offered his hand as if it was a business meeting. “How are you, Greg?” Mycroft asked as if everything was fine. “Can I offer you tea? Coffee?”

Greg ignored the tea trolley and folded his arms across his chest, refusing to sit down once Mycroft had gestured to the chair. “You can’t just avoid me for three days and then offer me tea,” Greg grumbled.

“Shall I offer you something stronger then?” Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow, a tone of amusement in his voice. “I have the feeling that we might require something stronger than tea to get us through this conversation, hopefully, we will not make any _mistakes_ this time.”

Mycroft poured two glasses of scotch before he sat down in his chair. He attempted to make small talk in an attempt to avoid the elephant in the room. It was nervous chatter as Mycroft murmured on about the latest political gossip and mentioned something about the mating habits of snails or some other dry topic that Greg’s brain could not process as he tried to figure out the words to say.

He did not know what he wanted to say or how to say what was on his mind. He thought that the direct approach was the best way to deal with the matter. “You know that ignoring this is going to make things worse?” Greg asked. “The elephant is not going to disappear if you ignore it enough or avoid me.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and tried to keep a neutral expression on his features even if he did look somewhat sheepish. “What are you wanting to talk about?” Mycroft eventually asked. “What is the point in discussing a mistake?”

Greg allowed himself to sit down and reluctantly accepted the glass that was offered to him. “What happened that night was not a mistake for me…I did not plan for things to go the way that they did, but I don’t regret it. ”

Mycroft had a puzzled expression on his face, it would have been endearing in any other situation. He picked up his glass and admired the amber liquid in the light in the attempt to avoid looking at him. “We do not have to talk about it, I understand that it was a mistake. I’ve accepted it,” Mycroft eventually murmured. “You do not have to lie to me to spare my feelings.”

Greg shook his head and he let out a quiet laugh. “I know that you are one of the smartest blokes in the world and you can do the deduction thing, but you can’t read my mind. You can’t tell me what I think or feel about what happened,” he said. “I thought that you trusted me enough to know that I would never lie to you.”

Mycroft looked as if he wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him up. “I do trust you,” Mycroft eventually managed to utter out. 

Greg nodded and thought for a long moment before he spoke. He allowed himself to have a sip of scotch for some Dutch courage. He doubted that he would be able to talk without it or address the elephant, there was no easy way to go about the matter. “It’s fine if you don’t feel the same way about me,” Greg finally managed to say. “I would rather you said something to me than avoided me. That is not the right way to go about things.”

Mycroft opened up his mouth to speak but quickly closed it again. He seemed to be in deep thought and seemed to be choosing his words carefully, often he would shake his head to himself. “What are you thinking about?” Greg asked.

Mycroft did not say anything for a long moment, and he seemed to be in deep thought, a defeated expression on his face and just looked lost on what to say. “Greg, I can assure you that I am not what you want,” Mycroft managed to finally utter out. “It has been difficult to come to terms with it over the years but…I know what is best. I refuse to damage our friendship over a mistake.”

“You can’t tell me what I want or who I fancy,” Greg grumbled, he downed the rest of his drink and stood up. “I understand that you needed some space to think as you are seriously emotionally constipated and have the emotional range of a teaspoon. I do refuse to sit here and let you tell me what I want after you avoided me.”

He started to make his way to the door before he sighed and turned around to face Mycroft. “You know that avoiding me and not talking about things will make things worse,” he said, pointing at Mycroft. “Avoiding me will do more damage to our friendship than you being tied to my headboard. I thought that we were mates and we could talk about things, Mycroft.”

His comment seemed to ignite a fire in Mycroft, who stood up and placed a hand on the door to stop him leaving. Greg suddenly wondered if he was possibly going to get exiled for what he said, he doubted that many people could call Mycroft Holmes ‘emotionally constipated,’ or tie him to the headboard with his tie, (which Greg did with Mycroft’s instance,) without being exiled. He did hope that if things did come to that, then Mycroft would send him somewhere where it wasn’t too cold.

“I do apologise for avoiding you. I am deeply sorry,” Mycroft murmured. “Please stay, Greg.”

Greg blinked and did not trust his ears, not believing that Mycroft had apologised and said ‘please,’ to him. “Your friendship means the world to me, Greg, and I would simply hate to lose it,” he said quietly. “I would like to talk about how to mend things between us.”

With little hesitation, Greg removed his coat and folded it on the arm of his chair. He did not know what to say to break the silence. He had the feeling that Mycroft was as lost as he was.

“I hope that your tie was not too wrinkled,” Greg eventually managed to say, using the first thought that came into this head. “I did not expect you to be into things like that, it was surprising.”

Mycroft’s ears went pink, he cleared his throat and seemed rather lost for words. “ How do you suppose that we move on from this?” Mycroft eventually managed to force out, his voice tight. “I would hate to lose out friendship over this mistake.”

“Do you think that it was a mistake?” Greg asked quietly. “Please be honest.”  
  
Mycroft nodded and seemed to take careful consideration with each word he spoke. “I do not regret spending the night with you…It is just that I am not what you want. There are other people who are better suited to you and they will make you happier. I’m just a blip between you and that person.”

Mycroft fiddled with the glass in his hand and avoided looking at him once more. “It has been difficult to accept over the years, but it is for the best.”

Greg shook his head and let out a laugh that surprised Mycroft. “What happens if you are the person who makes me happy?” Greg asked. “I should have said something sooner and I had always assumed that you were not interested in me.”

“I am not sure that I understand what you are trying to say,” Mycroft said shaking his head as if he had said something outrageous. He looked at him as if he had grown a third head and Mycroft seemed to have shrunk in his chair. The confidence that he normally wore around him had left him and what remained was a shy shell of Mycroft Holmes. It broke Greg’s heart to see him like that. “I am not sure if you are joking. ”

“The biggest mistake for me was letting you leave my flat,” Greg said before Mycroft could insist that he had made a mistake. He reached over the chair and gabbed Mycroft’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I should have said something or figured out somehow to keep you there, kept you tied to the bed.” He attempted to joke, Mycroft gave him a shy smile in return. “I don’t have much to offer, but I will try my best to make me happy. I will do my absolute best to do so.”

“I do think that there is a good chance that the two of us will work, I'm sure of it. Only if you want to give things a shot?” he said with total honesty. “ We are far from perfect when it comes to this sort of thing, but there is something between us, you can hardly deny it.” Greg ran his hand through his hair and suddenly wished that he was better at this sort of thing or he had another glass of courage in him.

“I could be the person who makes you happy. I know that you are not expert on this sort of thing and I am not an expert with relationships,” Greg said. “I do think that we can make things work between the two of us, there will be a lot to work on and we’ve both got our baggage. “

“You do make me happy,” Mycroft stated, his eyes finally meeting his own. “That is why I am not wanting to risk anything. There is a good chance that things will not work out between us and we lose everything.“

“Do you have a crystal ball in the office?” Greg asked, pretending to look around the room for the object, much to Mycroft’s confusion. “ I never knew that you could predict the future, Mycroft,” he said in response to the puzzled look that Mycroft gave him.

“ There is also a good chance that things will work out, there is a risk when it comes to everything in this world. You can’t just sit on the side-lines all the time, Myc. You don’t get that many chances of happiness in the world and you need to grab them with both hands. ” Greg put on his coat and started to make his way to the door, he pressed a chaste kiss on Mycroft’s cheek. “I’ll see you later, alright? Please don’t avoid me.”

Mycroft stood up and seemed to take what he said with great consideration. Greg was almost convinced that he was about to escort him out of the club. Instead, Mycroft stood awkwardly by the door for a long moment, shuffled on his feet and picked up his coat.

“Where are you going?” Greg asked, a confused expression on his face. “Are you going to escort me out of this office. As I am going to be pissed-“

It was an unexpected kiss from Mycroft that stopped Greg from finishing off his sentence. It was clumsy and their noses clashed together, the doorknob pressed awkwardly into Greg’s lower back as Mycroft pressed him into the wall. 

It was awkward and somewhat perfect at the same time.

Mycroft reluctantly pulled back and straighten out his tie, a sugar pink blush was on his cheeks. “I do apologise, I rarely do anything impulsive. I hope that you did not mind too much.”

Greg shook his head and tried to catch his breath. “Impulsive is brilliant, I don’t mind in the slightest.”

Mycroft fiddled with the lapels of his jacket and tried to straighten them out from when he grabbed them. “I was wanting to know if you would like to join me for some dinner?” He asked. “I am very aware that kissing you was not the best way to ask. I know that it cannot make up for my actions. ”

“That is a very convincing way of asking me,” Greg replied with a grin. “If you really want to make it up to me, how about that day out? It feels a shame to waste a week of holiday.”

He received a rare grin from Mycroft, the smile on his face made him look considerably younger and carefree. Greg was sure that it was his favourite expression on Mycroft’s face and nothing could change his mind.

“We can discuss it over dinner,” Mycroft beamed. “Perhaps we can make it longer than a day out? In an attempt to make up for three days?”

Greg raised an eyebrow and gave Mycroft a coy smile. “We could skip dinner and we can just go back to my place? Only if you want to?”

Mycroft practically dragged him out of the Diogenes Club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for all of the comments and kudos that this story has recieved! It means the world to me and it has been so fun to write. If anyone wants any particular prompts filled, I'll try my best to do so!


	5. Newspaper - University AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Each morning before the library opened at nine o'clock, Mycroft visited the student union without fail. He rather liked visiting the union at that time in the morning, hardly anyone was there. The newspapers had not been touched by anyone else and the pages were not wrinkled. Mycroft also enjoyed chatting to the attractive student with the charming grin when he ordered his tea and his croissant every morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was done to the prompt of 'newspaper,' from Johnwatsonblog.

Mycroft had thought that he would have enjoyed university. 

If he had to be honest, Mycroft prefered some aspects of university than others. He rather enjoyed the educational aspect of university. It was the first time in years that he had been  academically challenged. He liked the large library and he could spend hours finding textbooks to read for leisure. 

He did not enjoy being with other students. He found the majority of them to be loud, obnoxious, and  painfully dull at times.  He found it frustrating how some students did not make an effort in lectures and how they asked for his notes as they had been out the night before .

The kitchen that he shared with five other students was in a constant state of chaos.  There seemed to be an unofficial competition for who could pile the most dishes in the sink before someone had to wash them . Another completion or how long the bin could go unemptied. Mycroft often broke after day two and cleaned up the mess, it bothered him  terribly . Mycroft kept his luxury goods hidden in his bedroom and kept his favourite mug in his desk. He had the suspicion that someone was stealing his teabags even though he had written his name on the box. It was impossible to sleep some nights, especially on the weeks.  He  was convinced that the students who lived on the floor above wore shoes made of led and practised tapdancing right before he wanted to sleep .

He felt homesick in the first week of university and missed his brother  terribly . Mycroft would never admit that information to anyone- it was far too embarrassing. He knew that Sherlock would tease him  terribly if he found that piece of information out. 

In the attempt to stop himself dwelling about how much he missed his family, Mycroft  reluctantly decided to act on his mother's advice .

Mummy told him that he should go to the student union and try and be _'_ _social.'_ Mycroft was not sure what being _'social'_ entailed but he followed his mother's instructions and had taken up to reading the newspapers in the student union every morning .  Mycroft had the feeling that mummy had expected him to go to the union during the evening and interact with other students while  slightly intoxicated, but she did seem rather thrilled that he visited the student union every morning to read the paper instead of hiding in his bedroom all day with his books . 

Each morning before the library opened at nine o'clock, Mycroft visited the student union without fail . He rather liked visiting the union at that time in the morning, hardly anyone was there. The newspapers had not  been touched by anyone else and the pages were not wrinkled.  Mycroft also enjoyed chatting to the attractive student with the charming grin when he ordered his tea and his croissant every morning . 

Going to the student union, especially on days when Greg was working was often the highlight of his day. 

He had never thought that anyone in an apron could be so attractive.  There was an odd feeling in his stomach when Greg flashed him a smile from the counter when he walked into the union each morning . He always ended up chatting to Greg for quite some time by the till each morning. He  was convinced that going to sit down in the comfortable armchair, felt almost painful at times.  He could hardly talk at times and his face and his ears would turn pink each time that Greg complimented the jumper that he wore or told him to have a good day .

Once he had sat down, Mycroft would hide his pink cheeks with the newspaper,  occasionally glancing over the top of it to admire Greg at the counter . 

He couldn't get his hopes up, he doubted that Greg would ever  be intrested .

Mycroft believed that his appearance had improved somewhat in the summer before he went off to university .  He had managed to slim down  considerably , even if his daily habit of croissants from the student union cafe was counterproductive at times .  He had discovered hair product and  artificially darkened his hair, and he had taken up to dressing better .  His nose was still rather hawkish for his liking but he always congratulated himself each morning when Greg complimented his choice of jumper every morning or told him that he looked _'rather_ _ scholarly _ _,'_ on the days that he wore his glasses . 

On a rare occasion, Mycroft felt rather brave and confident. On those mornings, he found himself determined to ask Greg if he wanted to go for a coffee.  He put the idea out of his head each time as he thought that it would be bad taste to ask someone who worked in a cafe if they wanted to go out for a coffee .  He doubted that Greg would  be intrested and he knew that he wouldn't be able to summon up the courage to speak to Greg without sounding like a fool . He often found himself  terribly tongue twisted when Greg spoke to him.

On one particularly quiet morning, Mycroft  was thrilled to discover that he was the only student in the union cafe and that Greg was behind the counter . He wasn't too sure if he was imagining things, but he was rather convinced that Greg was as thrilled to see him as well. 

Greg made his tea and warmed up his croissant without Mycroft even having to order.  As usual, Mycroft blushed  terribly when Greg complimented his jumper and gave him that charming gin that turned his knees into jelly .  He stayed at the till for longer than usual and chatted to Greg, laughing harder than he should at a stupid joke that Greg made .  He  practically swooned when Greg talked about his essay he was working on Oscar Wilde's poetry and talked about Wilde as if he was an old friend . 

That particular morning, it  nearly felt impossible to leave the till and sit in the armchair even if his tea was getting rather cold .  He somehow managed to force himself to sit down in his favourite armchair and pretended to read the newspaper,  occasionally looking over the top to catch glimpses of Greg . 

"Alright if I join you?" 

Mycroft let out a small noise that resembled a squeak when he  was dragged out of his thoughts.  He pretended to clear his throat to hide the rather embarrassing noise that he had made, but Greg had seemed rather amused by it . 

"I'm on my break and there's no one else here," Greg said, "I thought that  I might sit on one of the comfortable chairs for once." He pushed over a packet of shortbread biscuits as if they would influence his decision. 

"That would be perfect...I would not mind in the slightest," Mycroft said rather  quickly and feared that he founded too keen . He could already feel his cheeks start to burn  terribly and felt more flustered that he would have liked to be.  He pretended to read the newspaper once he  was convinced that he was making a fool of himself the more that he attempted to speak .

It was at that moment Mycroft had the sudden desire to never return to the student union and to  perhaps move to Nepal and live as a goat with how much he had embarrassed himself . 

He had  fully expected Greg to  suddenly change his mind and take his break elsewhere,  however , Greg had remained and started to talk about Wilde once more . It was the first time in Mycroft's life that he was rather pleased to be wrong. 

Mycroft left the student union cafe when he realised that he was at risk of being rather late for his afternoon lecture .

He found it rather odd how Greg had been rather insistent on him keeping the newspaper that he had failed to read, conversation with Greg had been far too enjoyable and flowed  easily between them and he had lost track of the time, he  barely had a look through the main headlines .  He had tried to give money for the paper but Greg refused to take any of it and told him that he should visit the union later on . 

Mycroft attempted to read the newspaper outside the lecture hall and stopped reading at the first page . 

He noticed on the top of the newspaper in biro was a phone number accompanied by the message of _'_ _call me :) '_ scrawled in messy handwriting . 

Mycroft grinned to himself as he walked into the lecture hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the likes and the comments!
> 
> I felt that I needed to write something that was rather fluffy and cheesy for myself, it's been a bit of a slightly disappointing week. I am very convinced that a university Mystrade AU was much needed to remedy this and writing this has helped.


	6. A Journey of Mycroft  Holmes's Bewilderment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "DI Gregory Lestrade bothered Mycroft greatly.
> 
> It frustrated Mycroft to no end that he could not understand why he found Gregory Lestrade attractive, especially since the Detective Inspector was not his type...not that he had a type, of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on this Tumblr prompt I was given: "Mycroft always being frustrated when he sees Lestrade because he can’t believe his extreme attraction to the detective. Greg being clueless thinking he’s done something wrong or that Mycroft just really doesn’t like him. Lestrade confronts him and keeps badgering Mycroft to answer only for Mycroft to accidentally spill that he’s attracted to Lestrade"

DI Gregory Lestrade bothered Mycroft greatly.

It frustrated Mycroft to no end that he could not understand why he found Gregory Lestrade attractive, especially since the Detective Inspector was not his type...not that he had a type, of course. 

Mycroft could not explain his attraction to Lestrade, especially as Lestrade was in some state of disarray when he ever saw him, often at the end of a difficult case and covered in stubble and wearing a two-day old shirt, occasionally a coffee stain on his tie depending on how long he had been working for. 

He had to walk out of Lestrade’s office the last time he arranged to meet up. Lestrade had his feet up on his desk, a takeaway cup of coffee in one hand a doughnut in the other. The crumbs were over the desk and in the corner of his mouth. He looked completely unapologetic about it. The grin that he flashed him as he entered the office somehow managed to make Mycroft’s knees feel weak. 

Mycroft placed the files on the desk and quickly excused himself, disgusted that even when he had a mouthful of doughnut and crumbs on his face, Gregory Lestrade still looked ridiculously attractive. 

It was difficult to be in a room with Lestrade when he did not look so rugged and was somewhat dressed up. It was almost a miracle that Mycroft had managed to sit through his monthly meetings with Lestrade. Lestrade always insisted on the two of them going to dinner somewhere, he refused to be interrogated in a warehouse after their first meeting together. 

Worst of all was the fact that Lestrade always insisted that they ‘chat’ once business had been dealt with. It was near impossible to sit through dinner at times, Lestrade was always ridiculously charming and Mycroft felt his knees go weak as Greg flashed that ridiculously wonderful grin at him. It made Mycroft have to list the Monarchs of England from the House of Wessex in his head in an attempt to fight the blush that threatened to come upon his cheeks. He managed to make it up to King William VI to recover from Lestrade complimenting on his appearance and then reaching across the table to remove an eyelash from his cheek.

Mycroft had hoped that these awful feelings for Lestrade would go away over the years. It had been easy enough to dismiss them at the start, Lestrade was a married man, even if somewhat unhappily. It was highly unprofessional to be involved with a man who his brother worked with, he knew that it would cause Sherlock a great deal of bother, Sherlock would surely give him so much grief in return. 

The best strategy was to act cold and distant and those awful feelings would go away eventually. It would save him from having to deal with the pain and heartbreak from a man who would never look at him twice or even notice him without their shared connection with Sherlock Holmes.

There had been occasions when Mycroft had felt brave enough to say something to Lestrade. He did not know what he would want to say, of course, he had never been an expert when it came to matters of the heart. He rarely had time to pursue anything once he left university, the burden of being the older brother and work piled upon his shoulders. 

He did briefly consider asking Lestrade out for dinner several times or he would try to compliment him and hopefully, things would have progressed from there. He never did of course. The words were on the tip of his tongue on those rare occasions, fighting their way out of his mouth, but he never said anything. His mouth was always firmly closed and the words dissolved so much that he could hardly talk. He could feel his lips tingle with the anticipation of saying something, just anything. He never did though and instead painfully swallowed them down so many times, especially when caught a glance of someone considerably more attractive admiring him from the other side of the restaurant. 

The most that he could do in those situations was to pass Lestrade the files over the table, avoiding the plate of dessert that had two forks in it, Lestrade always insisted that they should share, ‘it’s healthier if we split it,’ he always said. He could occasionally utter out something, a pleasantry of some sort or an enquiry about Lestrade’s day. 

It was the most that he could do and it frustrated him greatly. He did not expect or particularly want someone as ordinary as Greg Lestrade to wander into his word and take a piece of him without even asking his permission. Lestrade probably did not even know that he had accidentally taken a piece from Mycroft. 

Unlike most people, Mycroft knew the moment that piece of him was stolen, for all he knew, he could have willingly given it away, he was just so exhausted being in Sherlock’s hospital room after all. 

Lestrade just walked to Sherlock’s bedside and sat there next to him in an uncomfortable hospital chair. Mycroft did not understand why he tried to make conversation with him or even smiled at him, but he did. He did not have to bring him cups of coffee or share a cigarette with him outside in the attempt to keep him company, but Lestrade did without a word.

He must have stolen that piece of him when their hands touched when Greg passed him a takeaway cup of coffee. There was the feeling of electricity in that simple brush of their fingertips and Mycroft believed that is when Lestrade had unknowingly stolen that part of him and there was little sign of getting it back.

That frustrated him the most of the whole situation. The problem that he could not solve, no matter how much thought he put into solving it or tried to act distant. He could not stop his attraction to Gregory Lestrade no matter how much he tried, even if there was little chance of anything happening. 

* * *

  
Greg was convinced that Mycroft Holmes did not like him. It bothered him more than it should have done, especially when he didn’t know what he had done for Mycroft to dislike him so much. 

He had moments where he thought that Mycroft liked him, usually when the two of them had dinner together. Greg did not care much for fancy restaurants, especially ones where he could not pronounce half of the menu and the portions were too small for his liking, but he liked the company. Those dinners were the highlight of Greg’s month, especially once business sorted and they started to talk about everything and nothing, usually after a glass of wine or scotch or two, and cake. 

There were moments at those dinners when Greg was convinced that Mycroft did not like him. There were moments where Mycroft sat in silence and seemed almost unable to speak to him. He would open his mouth to speak and promptly close it. There was something behind his eyes, Greg could tell that he wanted to say something but was unable to do so. 

At moments, Greg was convinced that Mycroft could hardly be in the same room as him. That bothered him more than anything, especially when Mycroft could be unexpectedly warm and be extraordinary charming at times, then act incredibly cold and distant to him. 

It hurt him somewhat when Mycroft walked into his office, dropped the files on the desk and then walked out without a word. 

He didn’t even need to get those files from Mycroft, he had only asked for Mycroft to bring them over to ask him out for dinner to sort things out between them. He didn’t plan for Mycroft to walk into his office when he was eating a doughnut, he wanted to ask Mycroft out in a more dignified manner. 

He barely had the opportunity to wipe the crumbs from his face before Mycroft left. 

Greg did not know what he was thinking or why Mycroft disliking him bothered him so much. He couldn’t even remember why he had the sudden need to find out what Mycroft’s problem was.

He blamed the scotch he had to celebrate Sherlock and John’s engagement, even if barely had a sip. It was a small party and he had occupied himself with Rosie and her tea set in the corner of the room. 

Mycroft had walked in 221B and said his congratulations to his brother and John, and then looked at him for a long moment with an unreadable expression on his face. Mycroft looked at him as if he had grown two heads as he pretended to drink the imaginary tea that Rosie offered him, and then without a word, Mycroft ‘had to take a phone call.’ 

Without a second thought, Greg handed Rosie back to John and followed Mycroft out of the door. He went down the stairs two at a time and followed Mycroft into the street, wanting to sort this problem out once and for all. He hadn’t even spoken to Mycroft in Baker Street and yet Mycroft had skulked out of the room like an annoyed cat after looking at him for a long moment. 

Mycroft did not seem to notice he was there or at least was pretending to not notice him, typing away on his phone. His shoulders slumped and a somewhat regretful look on his face once he had made eye contact with him, he seemed to be wishing that the ground would swallow him up.

“What on earth is your problem?” Greg asked instead of a proper greeting, he closed the black wooden door of 221B with more force than necessary, making Mycroft shudder. 

Mycroft immediately straightened up as if there was a metal pole up his back and slipped his phone in his pocket. The expression on his face was unreadable. “There is not a problem at all, Gregory,” he said, his voice clipped and overly polite for Greg’s liking. “I only had the time to pass my congratulations onto my brother. You know that I do not care much for social events.”

Greg let out a bitter laugh and crossed his arms across his chest. “Well from the way I looked at things, it was my presence that made you want to leave so quickly that I could practically see the smoke coming out of your arse.”

Mycroft’s expression was unreadable, his nose wrinkled in disgust at his comment. “I don’t know what I did to make you do that,” Greg said. “I don’t know what offended you so much about me having a pretend party with my niece. You couldn’t get out of my office any quicker the other day, you dropped the files on my desk and left without a single word. What have I done to bother you so much?”

  
Mycroft did not say anything for a long moment and he seemed to be selecting his words very carefully. Greg could practically see the cogs in his head turn. “You do not…”

Greg sighed and suddenly felt exhausted from this conversation. He planned out this conversation since Mycroft left his office without a word but he struggled to find the words to say. A part of him did not want this conversation and dealt with the rejection of Mycroft brushing him off and admitting his dislike for him. 

There were several moments that he was convinced that Mycroft liked him. Greg had never been sure of the ground where he stood with Mycroft and it seemed to shake frequently under his feet. Greg, himself was more grounded and he had always liked Mycroft, his feelings for him grew deeper of the years. 

He wanted to say something so many times but he wanted to be professional, he doubted that Mycroft would ever be interested. He had tried to move on from his feelings for Mycroft but had little luck. He found himself enjoying those monthly dinners with Mycroft more than he did with some of the dates he had been on. 

Things had been going smoothly between him and Mycroft for years, he could almost call Mycroft a friend. Mycroft had suddenly changed after Sherlock ended up in the hospital after a case went bad and started acting odd around him. Greg had put it down to his concern for his brother but strange behaviour lingered and he started to act rather distant at times and had only gotten worse recently. 

“It’s fine if you don’t like me, Mycroft,” Greg huffed. “I would much prefer if you let me know what I did to annoy you so much.”

“I am sorry,” Mycroft uttered out eventually, his eyes glued to his shoes. “I never intended-” 

“So what is your problem then?” Greg asked cutting him off. “Did I say something wrong? Things were fine before you went odd.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. Greg wondered if he should have kept his mouth closed, he knew that Mycroft had probably exiled people for less. “At least let me know what I’ve done? I’m fed up of you playing hot and cold, I don’t know if it’s because you have the emotional range of a teaspoon.”

“There is nothing wrong, Gregory,” Mycroft replied briskly. “Do not let me ruin your night, I’m sure that Rosamund would be wanting you back for imaginary tea and finger sandwiches.” 

“I’m sure that she would love to have you at the tea party.”

The two of them stood in silence for a long moment. Greg refused to go back inside and Mycroft had an expression of confusion and exhaustion on his face. He sighed and pinched his nose. “You do frustrate me endlessly,” he said. “I doubt that you are going to drop the issue.”

Greg folded his arms against his chest and leaned against the window. “How do I frustrate you?” Greg asked with a bitter laugh, relieved that he was finally getting to the root of the problem. “Did I say something wrong? My grammar in my texts not good enough? Do I eat too much of the cake when we are out for dinner? What is it?”

“Do you know how it is frustrating being with you?” Mycroft asked in a low voice. “Out of all the people in the world, it had to be you.”  
  
The words seemed to have slipped out of his mouth, Mycroft’s expression turned into one of regret. “I should go…” Mycroft murmured. 

Greg reached over and put a hand on his shoulder preventing him from leaving. “What frustrates you?” Greg asked quietly. “ We are both adults here, just tell me. I can handle it.”

It felt like hours until Mycroft eventually spoke, his eyes were plastered to the ground. He seemed to look somewhat smaller and almost just looked incredibly lost. “I do not understand how you can even look attractive even with doughnut crumbs on your face or drinking imaginary tea with a toddler,” he murmured. “It has been frustrating having to interact with you and knowing that nothing would ever happen between us. It is has been increasingly more and more difficult to ignore.”

“You could have just told me,” Greg said with a reassuring smile. “I have wanted to ask you out for dinner or something, I was convinced that you disliked me.”

“I do apologise for giving you that impression,” he said sincerely. “I would like to make it up to you, only if you are willing…”

Greg grinned and ran a hand through his hair, he felt like he was a teenager again and had been asked by a popular girl in school. “I suppose that a bit of dinner can help to make things right,” Greg beamed. “It is not your fault that you have about three hundred years of British emotional suppression in you. We can sort out things over some cake.”

Mycroft shuffled awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to do with himself. He blushed terribly as Greg placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. It was somewhat endearing to see the most powerful man in Britain to melt at the knees with just a kiss on the cheek. 

“I’ve got a tea party to attend to,” Greg said, pushing open the door and offering his hand out to Mycroft. “I don’t know if you fancy attending with me? The imaginary tea is simply lovely and there is a spot on the floor next to me and Bumbly the bee.”

Mycroft thought for a moment but a small smile crept on his face and accompanied Greg inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to the wonderful Johnwatsonblog who gave me the wonderful title and happily listened to my writing woes and has been my number one writing companion!


	7. Afternoon Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was over afternoon tea that Mycroft was convinced that he had decided that he adored someone. It had happened to him two times. Mycroft did not understand what it was about tea sets, finger sandwiches, and cream scones that gave him that revelation. "
> 
> Basically, the fic where Mycroft adores his niece and is a wonderful uncle.

Mycroft knew that buying a tea set for a three-year-old was rather excessive but it did not stop him spending two hours selecting the perfect tea set for his niece. 

He did not want anything that was too garish and he utterly refused to buy anything with Peppa Pig on it. Mycroft could never understand why Rosie enjoyed it so much or why his brother and John allowed her to watch it when there were far more educational and superior things to watch on the television. 

It was a full tea set that he had chosen for Rosie, complete with spoons, a milk jug, sugar bowl, and a cake stand. The set was stored in a horrendous bright pink wicker basket which his niece had naturally adored. 

Mycroft found it rather difficult to keep the smirk off his face when Rosie had neglected all of her other presents and was fascinated with the tea set. His brother had gotten rather fussy when Rose had ignored the junior chemistry set that was most definitely not age-appropriate for a three-year-old and the books on pirates. 

“She only likes that stupid tea set as it’s pink,” Sherlock grumbled when they were in the kitchen. “It is an awful present. What child needs a tea set?

  
“A child that is going to have good manners,” Mycroft replied. “I doubt that you are going to teach Rosamund basic etiquette or the joy of afternoon tea.”

“I’m convinced that you only bought my daughter a tea set as it gives you the perfect excuse to gorge yourself on cream tea and scones,” Sherlock said. 

  
For once, Mycroft did not allow himself to be bothered by his comment, instead, he found himself rather distracted by Gregory Lestrade, who was assisting Rosie set up her tea set on the coffee table. There was a vice-like feeling in his heart, a warm feeling ran through him almost as if he had just taken a long sip of hot tea. He usually experienced when he looked at Greg, even more so when he saw Greg interact with his niece. 

The first time that he had experienced that feeling, Mycroft wondered if it was a rare symptom of a heart attack or he was experiencing heartburn. He had come to the conclusion that his frozen heart was melting and he was becoming soft. 

Mycroft often wondered these days if becoming soft was a symptom of middle age. 

Mycroft did not attempt to hide his smirk once he caught a glimpse of Rosie placing her stuffed animals on the coffee table and trying to set up her tea set. He frowned to himself as he noticed that Rosie placed the spoon on the wrong side of the saucer. He knew that she was only three, but it would be an embarrassing mistake to make in later life. 

“My!” Rosie shouted to him, waving a sticky hand in the air beckoning him over. “My!”

Mycroft wrinkled up his nose and hesitated for a moment. It was the first time that Rosie had really been interested in him and she usually insisted on being carried by Sherlock at all times. The only exception was when Greg visited and then Rosie was constantly attached to him, he pulled strange faces and always sat on the floor and played games with her. 

Greg smiled at him encouragingly and shuffled on the floor and cleared a space for him.

Without a second thought or little care towards his suit getting wrinkled, Mycroft sat on the floor next to Greg and the stuffed bee that Greg had gifted Rosie. Without a moment of reluctance, Mycroft started to instruct his niece on the proper edicuit on how to stir tea, even if it was imaginary and started the debate with Greg if it was cream or jam on first on a scone. 

* * *

  
Afternoon tea with his niece had quickly become one of Mycroft’s favourite activities with his niece. He often wondered if this was middle age making him soft each time he laid out the tea set on the wooden dining room table in the garden when the weather permitted it. 

He often pretended that having Rosie dropped on the doorstep by her fathers was a somewhat unpleasant task for appearance’s sake. It would be far too embarrassing to admit to his brother than he enjoyed spending time with his niece. She had quickly made her way on top of the very small list of people who he adored. He would never confess that information to anyone other than Greg. 

After Rosie’s birthday party and how well received the tea set was by his niece, Mycroft dusted off the old tea set that was in the cupboard and brought it out each time Rosie visited. He didn’t worry too much about it being broken, it was a gift from his mother and somewhat hideous. Rosie was far too gentle with it despite only being a child. 

Mycroft would set up the table for himself, Rosie, and four stuffed bears and a bee each weekend without any hesitation. Rosie would be dressed in her best princess costume and Mycroft made sure that he was dressed in his best suit, nothing else would do and it was only the best for his niece. 

He had tried to engage Rosie in conversation about the events in the newspaper or politics that he deemed suitable for a child, he had never worked out the best way to communicate with her and talked to her as if she was an adult, but the only miniature. 

Rosie was never too interested in conversation and was more focused on smearing cream on her face. Mycroft did found himself rather amused when Rosie would shout ‘bad,’ or ‘idiot,’ when the Prime Minister came up in conversation. 

Mycroft had attempted to teach her manners with some level of success, she knew when to use a napkin and say please and thank you after he poured lemonade from the teapot, but always ended up covered in cream and jam and covered the table in crumbs. 

  
He had more luck teaching Rosie manner than what he did in his attempts to teach her French. Rosie had a lack of interest in learning French when Mycroft had attempted to teach her when she visited. He had been utterly horrified to discover that she only had an interest in the language when Peppa Pig had the French audio on. The suffering that he experienced when watching it was unbearable!

It was over afternoon tea that Mycroft was convinced that he had decided that he adored someone. It had happened to him two times. Mycroft did not understand what it was about tea sets, finger sandwiches, and cream scones that gave him that revelation. He always assumed that it was a very British and proper manner of when it came to matters and it suited Mycroft perfectly well, thank you very much. 

The first time was at Rosie’s third birthday party when he sat on the floor while his niece had poured out imaginary tea for him and tried to insist that he eat a biscuit, and attempted to feed him when he refused in order maintain his waistline. 

Mycroft was not entirely sure what happened that afternoon and he had experienced a strange feeling in his chest when Rosie was heartbroken when he had to leave and each time she called him ‘My.’ He had never liked the nickname but he had grown somewhat fond of it recently. He wondered if it was middle age when Rosie placed her sticky hands on his shirt and kissed his cheek.

  
When he was in the car, Mycroft had firmly decided that he had firmly adored his niece, and he simply could not understand why he did not do so already. He had never been fond of children, or most humans in fact, but he discovered that he was more willing to make exceptions these days. This affection had only grown stronger when his brother had left the child on his doorstep at least twice a month and afternoon teas had become a highlight of Mycroft’s calendar. 

The second time that Mycroft had decided that he adored someone over afternoon involved Gregory Lestrade. 

It was hardly the most dramatic revelation that Mycroft had experienced in his life. The idea that he was in love with Greg had been on his mind for some time. It was over afternoon tea, Mycroft had come to the very firm conclusion that he was in love. 

It was hardly a momentous act that made Mycroft had come to that conclusion but it somehow meant the world to Mycroft. 

  
Mycroft had been irritatingly been called into the office on the afternoon that he was meant to be having afternoon tea with his niece despite his very firm instructions that he would not be bothered on that occasion unless a world war was about to happen or if the matter involved the Queen. 

He had tried to resolve the matter on the phone with little success and his mood only seemed to get more foul the longer he dealt with idiots on the telephone. He reluctantly agreed to go into the office as he simply refused to be in an awful mood in front of his niece, it was not gentlemanlike.

Greg had thankfully agreed to look after Rosie on his behalf, he was the only logical replacement, the two of them did live together, Greg had the day off and Rosie simply adored him. 

The gesture itself was kind and done with a lot of care, however, Mycroft did not decide that he was in love with that one. 

It was something far less significant than that that helped Mycroft reach that conclusion. 

He had come home from the office to the smell of baked goods. There was a plate of scones on a wire tray cooling and a victoria sponge on a cake stand, several slices were taken out. This was hardly anything unusual and it was a fairly common occurrence ever since Greg started to live with him on a somewhat permanent basis. 

He could hear Rosie animatedly chatting and giggling away in the dining room. It was a sound that always put Mycroft in a good mood regardless of how large his workload was or if he was in a foul mood after dealing with the idiots in government. 

He removed his coat and put down his briefcase before he walked into the dining room. It was at that moment when Mycroft felt the sudden need to say those three words. 

The dining room table was decorated in the horrid tea set that was from the back of the cupboard. The table was laden with cakes, biscuits, and finger sandwiches. Rosie was dressed in her best princess dress and Greg had attempted to style her hair with a limited level of success.

Rosie was attempting to feed a cream scone to Bumbly the Bee and dab the toy’s mouth with a napkin. She possibly had more jam and cream on her face and her clothes than what was on the scone but she had little concern about the state of her dress. 

Greg was dressed up in his best suit that he wore for court dates, there was a spot of jam on his tie. He had a stuffed bear in his hand and was using it as a puppet, speaking to Rosie in a stupid voice. She burst into fits of giggles with almost every sentence and she attempted to feed Greg half of a scone, smearing cream on his nose. 

Mycroft was not sure why it was at that moment that he felt the sudden need to tell that he loved him. 

Mycroft had never believed in signs from the universe or any nonsense like that. For the first time in his life, he had the feeling as if the universe was giving him the sign that Greg was a very good thing in his life and that he should do his best to keep him in it. 

“My!” Rosie squealed once she had noticed him, reaching a hand over to summon him over to the table. 

“I hope that you don’t mind too much that I took over afternoon tea,” Greg said. “I couldn’t let Rosie go without.”

Mycroft walked over to the table and pressed a kiss on the top of his niece’s head. He did not frown as Rosie wiped her hands on his suit jacket instead of her napkin. He felt that there were more pressing matters to do than his suit. 

“I am glad that you are more willing to spoil Rosamund as much as I am,” Mycroft said with a smile. “I am sure that you would complain to your fathers horrifically if you didn’t get your scones.”

Rosie giggled and shoved her scone in Greg’s face. 

Mycroft could not help but chuckle and dabbed the cream off Greg’s nose across the table. The warm feeling spread from his chest and settled in his middle, a vice-like the feeling of happiness latched around his heart. 

Greg stood up and picked up the teapot and kissed his cheek, smearing a trace of cream onto Mycroft’s face. “I’ll go and get a new pot on for you.”

Mycroft attempted to entertain Rosie over the table with the events that called him to the office. He knew that she probably did not understand or care much for politics but he felt the need to justify why he had to leave, it was the polite thing to do. 

He pulled out a pen from his pen and scribbled three words onto the doily that was on Greg’s empty plate. It was probably the most impulsive thing that he had ever done in his entire life and it was not the way that he imagined telling Greg. 

He hoped that Greg would not mind too much.

  
When Greg sat down and reached over for scone, he let out a gasp and dropped the horrendous china cup that he was drinking from. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses for this fic, I just needed some fluff to write...

**Author's Note:**

> I have never done anything like this before so feel free to give me prompts either in the comments or to my Tumblr at Hogwartsjaguar97, feel free to prompt away and I'll try my best to write about it!


End file.
